


Pain and Joy

by Author_of_Kheios



Series: Hardships and Victories [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Culmination of a Slow Burn, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Genyatta - Freeform, M/M, Mild Angst, No Smut, Zenyatta's Backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 12:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21118868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Author_of_Kheios/pseuds/Author_of_Kheios
Summary: There is no greater pain than losing a loved one. There is no greater healing than falling in love. Even if you're oblivious to it.





	Pain and Joy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello and welcome back! If you have not read [Death and Harmony](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21012410), please please _please_ go do so; that's the first part, and this is the second. I don't want you to miss out on anything!
> 
> _Pain and Joy_, as mentioned, is the continuation of the slowly budding relationship between Genji and Zenyatta, a story based almost entirely from canon as I have interpreted it via other fanfics. Of course, I threw in a lot of my own headcanons, particularly involving Zenyatta's past, since there's apparently no canon for that yet. And obviously, I ship a non-canon pairing, so there's that. But you wouldn't be here if you weren't already expecting it. ;)
> 
> Right, so. Really quick I want to note that Lynx Seventeen is one of my favourite OW characters now and if they do not become a playable character in the game eventually, I will be highly annoyed. I'm sure you'll all enjoy my sassy take on the delightful omnic hacker, especially if you enjoyed Zenyatta's sass in _Death and Harmony_; feel free to scream at me in the comments if you did or not~
> 
> This is actually the last piece of this story; any other Genyatta fics I write will be unrelated, unless otherwise stated, just so you know. Also, the M-rating is more for heavy thematic content than for violence or sex; Mondatta does die in this story, so be prepared.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy, and don't forget to kudos, comment and subscribe!
> 
> EDIT: Added it to a series, because reasons. ;)

PAIN

Omnics did not dream. Zenyatta did.

He woke from his stasis more worn than the night before, lingering phantoms clinging to his processors, ghostly screams echoing in his head. He sat up and drew his legs under him, pushing the blanket away and shifting to lean against the chilled stone wall as he sought connection to the Iris. A connection he had yet to master.

Frustration welled up inside him, but stuttered at the gentle creak of the door opening. Without a word, Mondatta stepped in, quietly closed the door, and came to sit on the edge of the bed, opening his arms.

Zenyatta had never dared to ask how the monk knew when he was suffering, and he did not ask now either; choking on frustration and shame, he rolled closer and snuggled into the larger omnic’s arms, guilty in his desperation for Mondatta’s comfort.

No words were spoken, but none were needed; Zenyatta heard his master’s voice on endless repeat, stronger and easier to believe in the solace of the monk’s unjudging embrace.

_ “You are not your past; you are the future you choose to pursue.” _

_ “Redemption is a journey, not a destination; keep moving always, and you will right the wrongs of your youth.” _

_ “There is greatness in you; the choice is yours to quell it, or nurture it.” _

_ “No one is perfect; your mistakes do not define you.” _

Warmth seeped into Zenyatta, a gentle glow emanating from his master, and he welcomed it, allowing negative emotions to slide away beneath the Harmony of the Iris, revelling in the assisted connection he needed.

Some nights it was hard to forget the killer he had once been, but in moments like this, he saw hope for himself, and the more time passed, the more he desired to share that hope with others; if even a ruthless killer could be saved, how much more could others?

⛉⛉⛉

“You could not keep away?” Mondatta laughs, opening his arms genially. Zenyatta steps into the embrace, joy coursing warm through his body.

“Would you believe it is coincidence?” he chuckles, withdrawing from the hug but not yet moving back. “I only stopped to rest for the night, and became distracted by the orphanage.”

“So you have been here longer than I,” Mondatta muses, eyeing Zenyatta’s clothing, a more revealing outfit than the habit he wore previously. “You left the monastery?”

“I did. Your departure reminded me that a world exists beyond our walls, and I could not remain in peaceful sanctuary while others suffer.”

“Not so peaceful from what I hear,” Mondatta notes, purring in amusement. “Brother Kiera claims your student is a formidable warrior, a champion for omnics everywhere.”

“As yes,” Zenyatta laughs, moving away now and gesturing to the nearest seat. “Another siege. Genji suggested a battle of champions to prevent significant loss of life, and when I refused to fight, he offered to stand in my stead. He is quite talented with a blade.”

“Then it is good we removed them from him on his arrival.”

“Indeed. But he has come a long way, and not a day passes that I do not feel pride for his accomplishments. Do you know? He has joined Overwatch.”

“So I heard,” Mondatta chuckles, nodding idly at the petite brunette who has not strayed far from him. “Agent Tracer eagerly informs me of all the latest gossip within the organisation.”

“She sounds delightful,” Zenyatta hums, returning the enthusiastic wave Tracer sends their way when she realises their attention is on her.

“Mm. She has a childlike enthusiasm that brings light to many a dark day.”

“Dark indeed...” Zenyatta hesitates only a moment before allowing himself to speak freely, laying his hand on Mondatta’s. “I feared for your safety... When I heard you had been taken hostage, I- I crumbled.”

“Fear is not a bad thing, Zenyatta,” the older monk says gently, covering his hand. “Like all emotions, it is a natural response to the world around you. It is only a problem should you allow it to consume you. Fear for the future of omnics drove Null Sector to extremes they need not have taken, and fear of the past we cannot change drives humanity to reject us.”

“Not all of humanity,” Zenyatta counters, warmth blossoming in his chest at the memory of parentless children only just this morning swarming him with joyous cheers and begging for him to play with them. “Even those children who lost parents and grandparents to the Crisis have not rejected me. Certainly they kept their distance, at first, but oh, the smiles I have seen...”

“Perhaps you have the right idea, my student,” Mondatta laughs. “Look to the future generations for equality and peaceful coexistence; the current generation is far too stubborn.” There is teasing in his voice, and Zenyatta knows he will not give up his attempts to spread peace throughout the world. It is one of the many things he will always admire; Mondatta can be just as stubborn as humans.

“My only thought was to provide stimulation for a child who looked far too old for the years she has lived,” Zenyatta scoffs. “What followed was merely coincidence.”

“You say that as though you do not change the lives of all you meet,” Mondatta hums. “You are a force to be reckoned with, and it is an honour to have had a hand in your growth.”

“The honour is mine, Master,” Zenyatta says, pride bursting in his chest. “I am only so capable through the guidance you provided, and I intend to pass on that guidance to all who will listen.”

⛉⛉⛉

Genji was on a mission when it happened. He only learns of it after his return; McCree and Reinhardt are deep in conversation in regard to some specialty dish or another, so he quietly takes his leave and heads for the cafeteria, pausing when he finds what appears to be the entire base of personnel gathered around a screen.

_ BREAKING NEWS _ flashes repeatedly across the bottom of it, and a human man beside a female omnic are speaking, expressions and tones somber. Genji does not even hear the words; his attention is drawn immediately to the picture in the corner.

Mondatta.

A sickening twist grips the remnants of his gut, painful and aching like a punch. His feet move of their own volition, carrying him across the cafeteria and through the silent, horrified gathering to where he can clearly see.

The image changes, a video clip taken from a phone, most likely; Mondatta is walking slowly through a cheering crowd, stopping occasionally to greet someone, or to shake the hand of a child, flanked by bodyguards, and abruptly his head snaps back, body collapsing without warning, igniting screams of terror as the crowd scrambles for cover and the image shakes too much to see anything else.

Buzzing, ringing sounds echo in Genji’s ears, blocking out all sound as he struggles to breathe, unable to tear his gaze from the screen when it shows a reporter standing before a police barricade, behind which Zenyatta is carefully helping an omnic medic lift Mondatta’s body onto a gurney.

To anyone else, he would look somber but otherwise unaffected. To Genji, he is in agony, and that understanding sinks poisoned claws into his heart, shredding it.

Immediately he turns and begins shoving his way back through the cluster of humans and other, needing to get out, to find a way to Zenyatta’s side right this moment.

His blade comes out the instant someone grabs his arm, and they promptly let go.

“Genji, hold on a second,” McCree says calmly, hands up to show he isn’t a threat.

“No,” he growls, reluctantly sheathing his wakizashi and turning away again. “Athena! I need transportation to King’s Row, immediately!”

“Genji...” McCree follows him.

“I’m sorry, Agent Shimada,” the AIs voice speaks from the nearest speaker. “Travel to and from King’s Row has been restricted; our agents are already struggling as it is to leave.”

“Genji, just wait,” McCree tries again, hurrying in front of the ninja to block his path. Without hesitation, Genji grabs him by the collar and throws him up against the wall.

“My master is there,” he hisses. “And  _ his _ master just died in front of him. I will not leave him to suffer alone.”

“Alright, alright,” the cowboy says, trying to calm him down. “I get it; just... Listen, Tracer is there with ‘em; she’s already met your teacher and from what I hear, she likes him, so you bet your ass she won’t let anythang happen to ‘im till they get back. Ya hearin’ me? They’re coming back.”

“I cannot wait that long,” Genji snaps, releasing him abruptly and continuing down the hall.

“Genji, would you stop bein’ a stubborn ass?” McCree exclaims, frustrated as he follows. “Two days; that’s all it’s gonna take, alright?”

“That is two days in which Zenyatta suffers,” Genji says sharply over his shoulder. “I refuse to wait!”

“Goddamnit, Genji; why you gotta be such a mule?” McCree unleashes a loud sigh. “Fine; give me ten minutes to change and pack my bag.” That makes Genji stop.

“Why?” he asks suspiciously, glaring through his visor at the cowboy.

“Because at least I ain’t lettin’ you run off alone; like it or not, firebreather, I’m comin’ with you.”

⛊⛊⛊

They meet the convoy halfway, almost missing the tiny, no-name village where the vehicles are hidden behind buildings and the only reason anyone stands out is because omnics so rarely wear hoods. Genji himself would have dismissed the figure if not for the momentary flash of a familiar faceplate that causes his gut to tighten, and he doesn’t even warn McCree before leaping from the back of his bike, tucking into a controlled roll and coming up in a crouch as McCree realises what happened and calls out. Ignoring him, Genji pops to his feet, desperately hoping his eyes did not play tricks on him, and rushes across the street, dodging between startled passersby.

He rounds a corner and immediately trips, tumbling gracelessly across the ground.

“Stay down!” a woman’s voice commands. There’s a distinct hesitation even as Genji twists to look up at the barrel of a pulse pistol. “...Genji?”

“Oxton,” Genji breathes, relieved, slumping back on the ground.

“What- What are you doing here?” Tracer asks, baffled.

“I am-”

“Miss Oxton?” Genji immediately scrambles to his feet at the sound of his master’s voice, both delighted and worried as Zenyatta comes around the corner, hood held close around his faceplate. “Are you alright?”

“Master!” Genji blurts, barely containing his desire to leap forward and embrace the monk.

“Genji?” Zenyatta slowly drops his hood, stunned.

“Master Zenyatta, please,” Tracer begs, frantically reaching for his hood.

“There is no danger here, Miss Oxton,” Zenyatta chides firmly, raising his hand to stay her. “I surpass Mondatta in sensing my surroundings... please.”

Tracer hesitates for a long moment, highly reluctant to back down, and Genji falters, watching them closely.

“Genji, where-!” McCree almost strides right past the side street, backpedalling quickly. “Genji. What’re y- oh.”

“Mr. McCree,” Zenyatta greets calmly, nodding.

“Jess.” Tracer manages a half-smile, and Genji eyes her, frowning.

“Well, ya found him,” McCree says, glancing at Genji. “We should prob’ly get inside, y’all; after what happened to Mondatta...” The blood drains from Tracer’s face and her hands go to her chest, to the chronal accelerator glowing softly beneath her clothes, horror and shame in her expression.

“...Yes, perhaps it is best we relocate,” Zenyatta says quietly, touching her arm and gently guiding her back around to an entrance on the main street, his hood drawn up for the short walk.

Inside, after settling in a closed off room with covered windows and guarded by several agents, Zenyatta removes his cloak, sighing softly. Tracer sits slowly on the edge of one bed, near the door, hands folded between her knees, and stares at the floor past McCree’s boots.

“Miss Oxton was assigned to secure the perimeter during Mondatta’s speech,” Zenyatta explains gently. “With her abilities, she is the most capable of keeping it under control, covering vast distances in the shortest time possible. She was doing just that when Talon operative Widowmaker was spotted. Unfortunately...”

“She tricked me,” Tracer speaks up, ragged voice cutting him off. “I... I fell for it; I thought- She almost- I didn’t-” A broken sound escapes her, turning her next words into a whisper. “It was my fault...”

“What d’ya mean?” McCree asks hesitantly.

“She sho- shot at me, at-” Tracer breaks off, biting her lips together and clutching at her chronal accelerator. “I-I-I- I just- I panicked! I- I Recalled, and she- The trajectory...”

“She aimed at Mondatta,” Genji breathes, realising. “With you in the line of sight.”

“Move, or die,” McCree grimaces, following the line of thought. “One way or another, she was gonna get another hash mark on that gun.”

“It was my fault,” Tracer repeats, on the verge of tears. “I sh- I shouldn’t have moved!”

“Oh, darlin’, no...” Stepping across the room, McCree sits beside her and tugs her against his side, holding her. “It ain’t your fault, sweetheart.”

“...Talon was involved.” Genji lowers himself onto the other bed, by the back wall, carefully removing his mask. There aren’t many people he trusts enough to show his face, but everyone present is on that list. “Sombra, Widow...” He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, rubbing cold metal fingers over rough scars and prosthetics. “One misstep in fate, and I... I would be alongside them.”

“No one is perfect, Genji,” Zenyatta says gently. “Your mistakes do not define you. We all have dark spots in our pasts, and we understand each other better than most.”

“You too?” McCree frowns, surprised.

“Do not ask,” Genji states, waving a hand at the cowboy to keep him from pressing when Zenyatta clenches his hands in his lap. “You of all people know better, McCree. Unless you are ready to talk about Ash.”

“Ah... Yeah, that ain’t- Okay, fair enough.”

A heavy silence falls, weighted with shared grief and understanding.

“...He didn’t deserve that,” Tracer whispers into the quiet, one hand fisted in McCree’s shirt.

“Very rarely do we receive what we deserve, Miss Oxton,” Zenyatta replies. “Many of us count our blessings for that.”

“But-”

“All we can do now is perpetuate his memory,” he goes on, sounding far calmer than Genji knows he is. “Mondatta had a vision of peace and harmony between humans and omnics; we must see it to fruition. I, for one, will not rest until I have.”

⛊⛊⛊

“I thought the mask was my thing,” a tentatively teasing voice draws Zenyatta out of his nightly meditation. A habit he has not seen fit to break. But one that has done him little good in the days since Mondatta’s death; the knowledge that his last connection to the Iris bonded him one last time with his master has blocked him from connecting since.

“...Overwatch has been most welcoming,” he says lightly, keeping his voice steady as he lowers his feet to the floor and steps to the nearest chair in the room he’s been provided. “I better understand your desire to join them.”

“Master...”

“I am no one’s master, Genji,” he cuts in, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.

“You are mine,” Genji returns sharply. “Master, you cannot continue like this.”

“Like what?” Zenyatta asks, looking up at the ninja standing in his door. “I cannot continue to mourn the person who meant most to me?” Genji flinches roughly, turning his head. It stings, that reaction, and Zenyatta hates himself for it, but can’t help his frustration and anguish. “I was a  _ monster _ , Genji. A heartless killer; I did not even have a name before Mondatta. I was nothing more than a number programmed to destroy everything around me, and  _ he _ saved me.”

“You think I do not understand??” Genji cuts in harshly, voice strained as he rips the mask from his face so forcefully that the latches break off entirely, and the visor cracks beneath his fingers, shattering. His furious, agonised gaze meets Zenyatta’s, jaw clenched tight. “Did you not do the same for me? Did you not rescue me, care for me, teach me to be better? I am alive because of  _ you _ ; I understand better than anyone! This... This empty agony in your heart... It is  _ exactly _ what I felt when you collapsed in front of me and I thought you dead. Do not dare to treat me like an outsider, not now. Not after everything we have been through together.”

His words tear through Zenyatta’s chest, and the monk looks away, shamed by his own behaviour. And yet...

“...I am alive,” he says softly. “You still have me.” Forcing himself to look up, he returns Genji’s hard stare as levelly as he can manage. “Who do I have?”

“Me,” the ninja answers without hesitation, taking an abortive step forward. “Master... Zenyatta. You have me. Please... Do not shut me out.”

“I am protecting you-”

“Protecting?” Genji sneers, the dragon spirit within him swelling indignantly. “Of all your flaws, I did not expect you to be a liar as well. You are not protecting me; you are pushing me away.”

“Genji...”

“No! Do not chastise me!” He takes the room in three long strides, and Zenyatta instinctively pours Discord into an orb, readying to attach it to him. He barely restrains himself as Genji slams his hand into the wall behind him, battered nose mere inches from Zenyatta’s faceplate. “I am no child, Master, and neither are you. I will not let you lash out and thrash about in a tantrum; what would Mondatta say if he saw you behaving like this?”

“How dare yo-”

“How dare  _ I _ ?” Genji interrupts, lips curled viciously. “I speak nothing but truth and you know it.  _ You _ are the one deserving of chastisement; count your blessings it is not what you get.” Shoving away from the wall, he turns away, the cut of his figure a lethal weapon that steals Zenyatta’s breath; how has he forgotten that this man is perhaps as well trained as he? “If you come to your senses, my room is down the hall. If I am not there or on a mission, the training center is two floors down in the north wing.”

With those sharp, bitter words, he is gone, no sign of his presence remaining but for the broken pieces of his visor and the cracks in the wall behind Zenyatta, who stares in blank shock at the door... which Genji did not slam, surprisingly.

It takes a long time for him to recover from the outburst, a slow process that ends in the realisation that while Genji was brimming with Discord, it was not of rage or hatred, as it was so many years ago when they first met; Genji’s Discord was only that of sorrow. Despite everything.

Humbled by his student’s growth, Zenyatta slowly stands and steps across the room to pick up the pieces of the visor.

Genji’s mask covers only his physical deformities; his character and personality have become open and honest for all to see, should they dare to look. Zenyatta’s mask, however... He no longer knows where the mask ends and his true self begins.

⛉⛉⛉

JOY

It’s another week before Zenyatta finally gathers the courage to leave his room; omnics rarely need to consume sustenance, unless injured, and he relies on that lack of need to avoid contact with all. But the longer he goes without connection to the Iris, and the longer he goes without seeing Genji... the worse he feels. Discord drags at him, a gleeful poison cloying at every corner of his being, and the warmth of Harmony he once knew is but a ghostly residue streaked across his soul. Only when he can no longer bear it does he quietly slip from the room in the dead of night, slinking down the hall until the dimmed lights illuminate a sign reading ‘Shimada Genji’ in both English and Japanese.

Shame and unease tighten in his chest, wires feeling frayed and raw, but if he goes back now, he may fall to pieces. Taking a much unneeded breath to cool his servos and calibrate his stuttering processors, he raises a hand and taps at the door.

“Not tonight, McCree,” Genji’s tired voice floats through the metal. A slight ache twists at Zenyatta’s core, and he falters, stepping back.

Part of him burns with the shame, and begs to return to the solitude of his room. Another part wants- no,  _ needs _ to call out, to make Genji aware of his presence. The two desires war with one another, leaving him momentarily frozen, and he hears the ninja stir beyond the door, which slides open before he can panic and leave.

“...Zen-” Maskless, Genji bites his lip, startled and offput. Brow furrowed, he glances each way down the hall and steps to the side. “Please, come in.” Zenyatta hesitates, wondering if he can still escape back to his room...

No. He needs help, lest the Discord in his soul reduce him to the killing machine he once was.

Steeling himself, he steps into Genji’s room.

It is sparsely decorated, small; reminiscent of the living quarters in the Shambali monastery that neither has seen in over six years. The bed is rumpled, but otherwise the room is immaculately clean, sterile even; the only signs of personalisation are the delicate stand on the table for Genji’s blades and a handwritten banner in kanji, pasted to the wall above the bed.

“Have a seat,” Genji offers, gesturing to the bed and leaning his hip against the table.

“I would rather stand,” Zenyatta whispers, clasping his hands in front of him.

Deafening silence follows, growing strained and awkward as Zenyatta struggles to find the words he needs to ask his student for help.

“...I did not think it possible to see you so conflicted,” Genji speaks into the silence. His words are gentle, barely audible, but still they strike Zenyatta’s auricular sensors like a physical blow.

“I have not been, not since...” Turning his gaze to his hands, Zenyatta marvels at how difficult it is to speak.

“Since before you became a monk?” Genji offers. A polite way of mentioning his former life.

“I... I need...” Zenyatta still cannot find the words, and his frustration builds.

“...I will happily give you anything, Zenyatta, but you must ask it of me first,” Genji states after a moment. “I cannot presume to know what you desire.”

He is so calm, neutral... Distant. It aches, how he does not say ‘Master’ now, and Zenyatta feels as though he lost something; he cannot even say what.

“I... don’t know...”

For a moment, the silence returns, and then Genji takes a deep breath, standing from the table. Turning, he takes his blades from the stand.

“Come with me.” Placing a new mask over his face, he leads the way out of the room and down the hall. Perplexed, Zenyatta trails behind him, feeling unusually small and weak.

The training center is large, with multiple sections; nothing like the padded room in the monastery. But Zenyatta doesn’t get a chance to inspect much of anything; the moment the doors close behind him, Genji whirls around, jabbing the sheath of his wakizashi at Zenyatta’s middle. Completely caught off guard, Zenyatta jolts back, not fast enough; his back hits the door and the end of the sheath stops, resting against the base of his chest.

“Is there trouble, Agent Shimada?”

“Just training, Athena,” Genji answers calmly, stepping back and attaching the katana sheath to his back, holding up the confined wakizashi as though it’s unsheathed. “Warn us if anyone approaches?”

“Of course, Agent. Would you like me to run any simulations?”

“No, thank you. It’ll be just the two of us.”

“Understood. Training log entered for Agent Shimada and guest, Tekhartha Zenyatta, at 0157. Standing by to assist.”

"Come then," Genji urges when Zenyatta merely stares at him. "What was it you said...? Hand-to-hand combat will round your edges, an outlet? Stop thinking and fight; get out of your head for a moment."

He's right, and Zenyatta finds himself mildly amused by the odd reversal of roles; if nothing else, it will be an excellent way to exhaust himself beyond thought.

The mala beads twirl around his neck, and he makes a jabbing motion, sending a ghostly facsimile of one at Genji's chest. An orb of destruction, it's called; a compression of pure Discord into physical form designed to damage an opponent's body rather than his or her soul. It hits the ninja square into the chest, knocking him back a step and punching breath from his lungs, leaving him breathless and momentarily disoriented. He turns his mask toward Zenyatta, posture startled and amazed; for one short moment, an impressionable student once more.

“Well. If that is how you want to play...” There’s a mischievous lilt to Genji’s voice, and he shifts back a couple steps, flicking his wrist to bring out the triplet shurikens.

“I may be made of metal and plastic,” Zenyatta states, holding out a hand in warning, “but there are rather important wires and conduits exposed to-”

Genji flings one of the small metal stars at him, and he barely twists out of the way in time.

“Less talk, more action,” Genji cackles, eager now. “Or do you fear losing to your student?”

“You say that as if you have not dropped me to the floor on a number of occasions,” Zenyatta points out blandly, eyeing shurikens and sheathed blade warily.

“Clearly you were going easy on me,” Genji retorts. “Come on!”

Zenyatta hesitates, still unsettled and antsy. The prospect of a chance to unwind is so, so very tempting, but something... something is holding him back. For a moment, he tries to parse out what, but precious seconds pass, yielding nothing. Nothing but a flash of clarity; if he can’t figure out what  _ it _ is, then what does it matter?

“Easy, you say?” he hums, easing into the sense of calm his decision provides. “You would prefer me to go hard on you then?”

⛉⛉⛉

Whatever it was, something Genji said or did, or the monk’s own change of heart, Zenyatta falls into the training session easily. Genji could not be happier. It’s the first time they have combated since before parting ways six years ago.

Genji knows his own skills have greatly improved, through long hours sparring with McCree, Reinhardt, even Winston on an occasion or two. The irregular teachings of his youth, the untamed rage that fueled his later training, particularly after coming back from the grave... He was a killer, no doubt about it, but only after the last six years have his skills been honed as sharp as his blade.

And yet, somehow, after a few faltering mistakes, Zenyatta not only matches him blow for blow, but seems to blossom under the pressure. He’s slower than Genji, but far more agile ― quite an accomplishment, all things considered ― and it seems the totality of mechanism to his body allows him to shrug off damage more easily than Genji.

All in all, by the time they collapse against walls across from each other, both worn and, in Genji’s case, trembling with exhaustion, it’s difficult to tell who held the upper hand more.

“Ah, I have not had so much fun in far too long,” Genji chuckles breathlessly, slumping back against the wall and lazily reaching up to remove his mask. “Athena, what time is it?”

“The current time is 0341.”

“Thank you,” Genji sighs contentedly, setting his mask on the floor beside him.

“Agent Shimada? Winston is on his way to the training center; he has a new simulation to test.”

Genji is already groaning before the AI finishes speaking. “ _ Kuso _ ... Winston, why must you have such poor timing...”

“It is no problem, Genji,” Zenyatta says gently, humming pleasantly. Taking one of the mala beads from around his neck, he cradles it in his hands for a moment, until a warm gold glow effuses from it. Then he releases it, and it floats up to hang in the air between them, bathing them both in a healing embrace.

Genji can’t help the sigh that pours off his tongue.

Oh, how he’s missed this feeling... Meditation, the warmth of the Iris... It hasn’t felt the same without Zenyatta.

Unfortunately, the feeling also reignites the ache he’s spent years burying. He watches Zenyatta while the monk watches the orb.

“This... It helped,” Zenyatta says after a moment. His gaze falls to his hands. “I- Mondatta’s death affected me in ways I- in ways I never expected. I... apologise...”

“For what?” Genji asks, tilting his head. He tries hard not to let his voice betray his emotions. “For mourning? You said yourself; you lost the most important person to you... I should not have said what I did. I was angry, frustrated...”

“It is understandable,” Zenyatta says into the pause. “I was not at my most sensible, and my stubbornness caused you grief. That is what I apologise for. You wanted to help, and I...” He huffs in wry amusement, holding out his hand. The orb returns to him, glow fading. “I pushed you away.”

“...Zen-”

“Pardon my interruption, Agent Shimada,” Athena cuts in. “Winston is here.”

The door, across the room from them, slides open, allowing the scientist to enter.

“...with the trajectory of the- Oh. Good morning, Shimada,” Winston greets brightly, pausing in the door as he notices them. “Sorry; am I interrupting?”

“No,” Genji answers, keeping his voice light and his face turned away until his mask in back in place; as much as he likes Winston, his scars are not something he wishes to share with the scientist. “We were just finishing up. Athena says you have a new simulation to test; another sleepless night?”

“Yes,” Winston replies, a touch sheepish. “It’s hard to sleep when so many ideas are spinning circles in my head. Oh, speaking of... I was actually going to ask you tomorrow if you’d like to run the simulation after I’ve picked apart the last few bugs. I think it’ll be quite beneficial to your training.”

“It would an honour,” Genji nods, standing and hooking the sheathed wakizashi to its place at his hip. “Have Athena let me know when you are ready for me.”

“Of course; thank you.” Winston is already lost in his head, going to the nearest console to begin setting up his new simulation. “Have a good night, gentlemen. Morning...” He waves a large hand dismissively, too preoccupied to correct himself.

Instead of standing, Zenyatta tucks his legs under himself, lifting off the ground, mala beads spinning faster for a moment to match the pleased hum he makes. Shaking his head in amusement and suppressing a smile, Genji gestures at the door.

“I will walk with you back to your room,” he offers, unable to pass up the opportunity to spend more time with his master.

“Thank you,” Zenyatta purrs, folding his hands in his lap. “I fear this compound is a touch too complex for me; I would no doubt lose my way without a guide.”

They walk in silence ― or rather, Genji walks, and Zenyatta floats ― for most of the trek back to Zenyatta’s assigned quarters. As they pass Genji’s room, Zenyatta glances at him.

“The banner, in your room,” he speaks up. “What does it say?” A deep, contented sort of embarrassment heats Genji’s cheeks, and he does not return the look, despite knowing the monk cannot see his face.

“Hatred is not strategy,” he quotes, a phrase that embedded itself in his soul in the years since he last saw Zenyatta.

“I see you paid attention to my lessons,” the monk chuckles as they draw up in front of his door. “Even without your mentor, you have continued to grow and flourish... I cannot say how proud I am of you, Genji. The Iris must hold quite the fate for you, my dear; I only pray I am there to see it.”

Never before has Genji been so glad for his armour, especially his mask; embarrassed pride burns from head to toe and he cannot stop grinning, overjoyed to hear that pet name again after so long. It takes every minutia of strength he has to refrain from embracing Zenyatta, every strand of control he possesses to maintain a level voice as he responds.

“I can only imagine you will be, if the Iris has placed us back together.”

“Mm, perhaps,” Zenyatta agrees thoughtfully. He eyes Genji for a moment, and Genji basks in his master’s attention, soaking it in like a sponge. “...Do you mind...? Tomorrow night... Another round?”

Another reason to appreciate his armour; Genji’s heart threatens to burst from his chest.

“Yes,” he breathes immediately. Then hastily; “I mean- No... No, I do not mind in the slightest.”

“Wonderful,” Zenyatta purrs happily, stealing Genji’s breath. “Until tomorrow then. Sleep well, Genji.”

⛊⛊⛊

Just over a week after that first sparring session, Zenyatta joins the rest of the facility for breakfast, thrilling Genji to his core when he floats into the cafeteria and promptly takes a place at Genji’s table, between him and Tracer.

“Glad to see you wandering about, love,” Tracer greets, relief behind her bright smile. “Care for a cuppa? I hear the omnic drinks here are positively scrumptious!”

“Thank you for the offer, Miss Oxton, but I believe I will decline,” he hums, tipping his head in acknowledgement.

“How ya doin’?” McCree asks, leaning his elbows on the table as he chomps down on a massive bite. Genji kicks his shin under the table and nearly causes him to choke.

“Quite well, thank you,” Zenyatta answers, willfully ignorant of the cause behind the cowboy’s sudden coughing fit. “I apologise for my reclusive behaviour of late; there was much I needed to process.”

“Completely understandable,” Tracer assures quickly, forcing her smile to remain bright and cheerful. “We’re all here if you want to talk.”

“Likewise,” Zenyatta replies gently, placing a hand on hers and squeezing lightly. "Genji tells me you had a rather interesting mix-up yesterday..."

And just like that, he slides smoothly into pleasant, open conversation with everyone at the table. Several people stop as they pass to greet Zenyatta and offer condolences, and Genji marvels at how easily he takes them in, generously accepting their words and turning the focus neatly back on them, so that a few even join the table for a while. The table gets loud and cheerful, and Genji just sits back to admire his master's talents.

He was right in his assessment oh so long ago; Zenyatta has a gift for connecting to people, a talent that comes as naturally to him as breathing does to humans.

"I am so happy to see that your confidence has returned," he tells the monk later, while touring the gardens. It's the first time Zenyatta has seen anything more of the facility than the path to the training center since his arrival, and Genji eagerly offered to give him a proper tour.

"Less my confidence and more my self-esteem," Zenyatta corrects, pausing beside a rose bush dotted with enormous orange-pink blossoms. Many of the plants in the garden have just come into full bloom, and Genji delights to see how comfortable being here seems to make his master.

"You are far stronger than you credit yourself, Master," he says softly, watching the monk gently caress the heavy head of a rose and wishing it himself beneath those long, slender fingers.

"Perhaps," Zenyatta allows, idly breaking off a few half-withered leaves. "But I dare not touch some of that strength for fear of reigniting the programming of my past."

"I do not believe you are incapable of controlling yourself in any event," Genji says firmly, shifting around Zenyatta's side to reach out and touch his free hand a moment. "I do not believe the Iris would allow you to fall apart so completely; you have a purpose, and I dare not consider even for a moment that the Iris would ever make such a mistake."

"Mm." Zenyatta focuses on him for a moment, mala beads spinning on their axises in thought. Then he catches Genji's hand, making his heart leap to his throat. "Would you meditate with me? I... I have been unable to establish a proper connection to the Iris since... I fear I may not be capable of doing so alone at the moment; I may have a mental block that refuses to let me connect, which has made me... unsettled for much of my time here."

It’s a struggle for Genji not to react at how intimate the request sounds. A part of him demands that he walk away before he makes a fool of himself. The other part cannot possibly refuse Zenyatta.

“I- I am humbled by your request, Master,” he manages, heart pounding a staccato beat against his ribs. “It would be my greatest honour.” Tearing his gaze from the monk, he glances around for a good place to sit in peaceful isolation, finding a vine-choked arbour that suits perfectly. “There?”

“An excellent choice,” Zenyatta hums, moving beneath the arbour and lowering almost to the ground. Genji sits across from him, holding his breath and watching his master far more closely than he needs.

It takes a long moment for any sort of connection to form, initiated by Zenyatta; thin, tentative... A trickle of warmth that Genji tugs gently, stretching and widening into a stream, then a flood. It bathes them both, cycling, embracing, merging...

Adoration, pride, hope... Harmony. Neither knows where the feelings originate; they share it all, one entity, one being, one soul within the Iris.

How long it lasts is anyone’s guess, but it must be quite a while; when the glow fades, dusk has fallen. Seconds pass, and Genji basks in the lingering contentment.

“That was...” Zenyatta hesitates, making Genji’s heart jump to his throat, anxiety chasing away everything else. “...unusual.”

“...Unusual,” Genji echoes, heart plummeting now.

“Yes,” the monk hums. “I expected... less.”

“Less?” Genji frowns, perplexed now.

“Ah... I did not mean-” Zenyatta raises a hand to his neck, faceplate turning away. “My apologies; I merely was not expecting such... depth of emotion. I thought myself... empty, I suppose? Certainly incapable of such strength.” His hand falls into his lap, gaze returning to Genji and head cocked. “That must have been yours.”

Once again, the ninja finds himself breathless, this time fearful that Zenyatta has figured out how he feels.

“You experience things with far more emotion than I expected,” Zenyatta notes. “I would be amazed, but the last time we meditated together was in the company of the other monks; it would take a far stronger sense than mine to notice.” He purrs in amusement, and Genji struggles to contain his relief.

“Does... that mean... you would like to do it again?” he asks hesitantly, desperately hoping it doesn’t sound as promiscuous to Zenyatta as it does to his own ears. The monk laughs.

“I would. Very much so.”

⛊⛊⛊

"Dr. Winston," Zenyatta says, approaching the scientist in the cafeteria, still hovering; though originally intended to disconnect him from the earth, to avoid excessive contact with Discord, he has found that the constant thread of connection between buzzing omnic energy and the Iris required to maintain the state is a much needed comfort, and thus he rarely walks anywhere anymore.

"Zen! Please, just Winston is fine," the scientist stammers, flustered by the title. "Don't have a doctorate, you understand."

"That does not make you any less deserving of respect," Zenyatta points out, watching in vague amusement as the scientist devours a peanut butter sandwich that's more peanut butter than sandwich. He takes advantage of the fact that Winston's mouth is occupied for a moment. "I have a request to make. I would like to join Genji's- Agent Shimada's upcoming mission."

"Sorry?" Winston frowns, muffled by a mouthful of food.

"I understand that the young musician Correia dos Santos is to join them, since Dr. Zeigler is currently unavailable and his experience with field medicine may be required. However, he has just arrived and has had little opportunity to settle in. I am volunteering to take his place."

"I- That's not- You know field medicine?" Winston asks, eyeing him curiously.

"There is a very long answer to that question," Zenyatta hums, "but the simplified version is 'yes.'" For a split second, the scientist seems to be considering it. Then he shakes his head.

"I can't just- It's against protocol to send a civilian on missions, particularly ones this dangerous, and no offense to your person, but you are still a civilian."

"Then make me an agent," Zenyatta requests, already having anticipated this. "I intended to ask you about it in any case; when Genji mentioned that he was leaving, I decided there was no better opportunity."

"That's not-" Winston scowled, setting a second sandwich down and rethinking his words. "It's not that easy, Zen. Even if I wanted to, the process takes too long for you to be able to join Agent Shimada and the others."

"Is there no way to fast track the process?"

"It isn't- The whole reason for these protocols is to keep untrained personnel out of danger... Not to mention the sensitive information the agents may come into contact with. I shouldn't even be considering it."

“Dr. Winston,” Zenyatta coaxes, “how many times have you interrupted me and Genji training these past weeks? You cannot say I am not fully capable of handling combat. In fact, I may well be more capable than most of your agents. And as for the sensitive information, I was a Shambali monk; surely that speaks for my character.”

“It’s not just about character; it’s about loyalty, and ― again, no offense ― but I don’t believe you’re the type of person to pledge your loyalty to an agency like Overwatch.”

“You are not entirely incorrect,” Zenyatta admits. “However, Genji was my Shambali brother; if you believe nothing else, believe that I will  _ not _ betray him. Jeopardising Overwatch would jeopardise Genji, and I could never survive with that on my conscience.” Winston hesitates, staring hard at his sandwich, and Zenyatta dares to push it a little more. “We have talked many times since I arrived, Dr. Winston... Have I ever given you cause to doubt my convictions? You trusted Mondatta, and Mondatta trusted me; does that not lend itself to giving me a chance?” When Winston falters still, Zenyatta tries one last time. “If it will assure you, I will swear on the Iris that I will look at nothing that has not been cleared by Genji and the others; my purpose will be solely to keep the team safe and healthy so that all may return.”

Winston lets out a long, exasperated breath, clearly annoyed and yet seemingly amused.

“I could get in so much trouble for this...” he mutters, picking up his sandwich. “I’m granting you probationary agent status, to be reviewed on your return to Overwatch, with consideration for your performance on this mission, as well as the testimonies of your teammates. Come to my office after lunch and we’ll fill out the basic paperwork to make it official, and when you get back, we can talk for real.”

“Thank you, Dr. Winston,” Zenyatta purrs, delighted. “Your concession is greatly appreciated; I will do my utmost to ensure it is everything you hope.”

“Zenyatta,” Winston speaks up as he’s leaving. “Your promise not to look at anything? I want it in writing.”

“Of course; I would have it no other way.” Literally vibrating with excitement, the monk hurries to find his student to tell him the news.

⛉⛉⛉

“Captain Sojourn, allow me.” Zenyatta gently eases the woman’s hand away from the panelling along her spine and opens it himself. The loose wire it directly on top, and he gently nudges the connector back into place, pouring a thread of healing from the Iris into it to soothe the aches caused by the jostled connection.

“Ahh, thank you, Zen,” the woman sighs, relieved. “Oh, good job with that blitz attacker, by the way; probably saved all our lives... At least reduced the amount of injuries we took.”

“It was my pleasure,” Zenyatta assures. “Your safety is my first priority.”

“So formal,” Genji chuckles, leaning on the short wall between them. “I do not believe I have ever heard you so deferential.”

“Thank you for exposing me,” Zenyatta deadpans. “Now your captain knows I am a little shit.”

Genji explodes into laughter, collapsing against the wall, and Sojourn turns a blank look of shock on them both. Mirembe glances up from the equipment she’s packing, but she’s too far away to have heard.

“Excuse me?” Sojourn exclaims, completely caught off guard.

“Apologies, Captain,” Zenyatta says sincerely. “I will refrain from further cursing.”

“That’s not-” Sojourn frowns, crossing her arms. “...I didn’t expect something like that from a monk.”

“Former monk,” Zenyatta corrects. “And I promise you, I am not like any monk you will ever meet.”

“So I’m realising,” she scoffs. “Help Mirembe finish packing up, boys; we got about three hours to get this stuff back to Winston before it becomes useless.”

“Then we should get moving,” Genji snickers, still amused.

Zenyatta’s sensors prickle a mere instant before a loud voice calls out, giving him no time to warn the others.

“Not so fast,  _ inostrantsy _ .”

Immediately Genji is in front of Zenyatta, wakizashi in hand and shuriken extended. A little ways away, Sojourn has her arm up in front of Mirembe, who’s plasma rifle is out and cocked.

“Hold!” Sojourn orders. “Well then. If it isn’t little Zarya.”

“So-so Sojourn,” a decidedly  _ not _ little woman greets coolly, resting a massive particle cannon on her muscled shoulder. “I’ll be taking that data pad, if you don’t mind.”

“I rather do mind,” Sojourn answers, just as cool. The sparks of Discord between them speak of a long and rocky history, one Zenyatta is not sure he wants to know.

“You can hand it over, or we’ll take it,” Zarya threatens.

“We?” Sojourn echoes. Zenyatta has already expanded his senses, searching out whoever is with the newcomer, and even as Zarya scowls, realising her slip, Zenyatta feels a strikingly familiar presence.

“Lynx?” he calls out, hardly daring to believe it. Zarya’s scowl turns to a glare, the Discord within her soul growing sharply, but Zenyatta ignores her entirely, trusting the others ― Genji especially ― to protect him while he turns his attention to the shadows at their flank. “Lynx Seventeen. I am... shocked and delighted to see you alive.”

“...you know me?” a low voice wafts from the shadows. Tentatively, an omnic steps into view, twin antennae twitching to one side in curious confusion.

“I do,” Zenyatta says, amazed. “I- I suppose you would not recognise me any longer...”

“I know who you are,” Lynx counters. “Tekhartha Zenyatta, former Shambali monk and student to Tekhartha Mondatta, activist and speaker for equality between omnics and humans. But... I don’t know how you’d know me; you didn’t even exist until about ten, eleven years ago, and I haven’t been close to other omnics in almost fifteen.”

“Would it help to know I have replaced my body? Removed my core and placed it in a... less threatening form?”

“Enough talk,” Zarya cuts in, irritated. “Give me the data pad.”

“Why?” Zenyatta asks before Sojourn can even open her mouth. “What is on the data pad that could possibly be of importance to you?”

“If you knew what was on it, you wouldn’t be asking,” Zarya sneers.

“I need to know what is on it to know that you are being outrageous?” Zenyatta retorts.

“M12-2,” Lynx breathes. “Oh my God, I thought you were dead.”

“You know him?” Zarya snarls, pinning the omnic with a disgusted look.

“‘Know’ is relative... M12-2 was... not a monk, that’s for sure. Not monk material either.” Lynx’s antennae tilt forward in amusement and interest. “You’ve changed, 2. Nothing in your history as Zenyatta would ever have tipped me off.”

“You’ve changed too, 17,” Zenyatta hums, enjoying the opportunity to catch up. “Not so meek as you were when they freed you from Anubis. If I am honest, I rather prefer the boldness.”

“Definitely you, 2,” Lynx laughs, antennae perking. “Even before, you were always such a smartass.”

“Hey, robot; enough chatting,” Zarya cuts in, pissed now. “Get the data, damnit!”

“Not happening,” Sojourn says sharply. “Zen, whatever this is, wrap it up and let’s go already.”

“Hold on a moment, Captain,” Zenyatta replies, holding up a hand. “17, surely we can come to some sort of compromise.”

“Actually, you may be right... Zarya, my personal experience with M12-2 may be old, but if he’s anything like he was, we could use his help, perhaps the help of his team.”

“Wh- No! No way in hell!”

“Miss Zarya, you’re being unreasonable...” Zenyatta chides gently.

“Doesn’t matter-”

“Sombra,” Lynx blurts. Zarya turns an appalled stare on the omnic, who ignores her entirely. “We’re looking for Sombra.”

"Sombra?" Genji doesn't sound happy, and from what little Zenyatta had been able to gather, it's no surprise.

"What for?" Sojourn asks suspiciously.

"That's classified!" Zarya snarls, furious for being danced around and ignored.

"Then you can take it up with Overwatch," Sojourn says curtly. "Zen, I won't repeat myself again; we're leaving."

"Understood, Captain. 17, Dr. Winston is a very fair individual; if you present your case to him, I'm sure he will listen. And I know you of all people will be able to locate him. It was good to see you."

"Thanks," Lynx purrs. "And likewise. Hopefully we'll see each other again soon."

"Hopefully," Zenyatta concurs, and hurries after Sojourn with Genji following to make sure Zarya doesn't lash out. To himself, Zenyatta adds, "I have so many questions for you, Lynx..."

⛉⛉⛉

"He has difficulty respecting authority." Genji scowls at Captain Sojourn's declaration, but says nothing; it isn't his turn to speak yet. "He makes impulsive decisions and speaks out without leave. While normally a quality I can work with, this time he all but invited an invasion of our base, which is something we just cannot afford with how close Talon is."

"Whoa, hold on," Genji says, unable to hold back after that accusation. "It is not an invasion... If anything, Master Zenyatta prevented leaking our location by refusing to speak it aloud in an unsecured area, where anyone could be listening."

“You are speaking out of turn, Agent Shimada,” Sojourn warns coolly. “And that omnic, Lynx Seventeen, is a hacker. Just like Sombra.”

“Not like Sombra,” Genji insists. “I  _ know _ Sombra. Personally. The omnic I met was nothing like her. I will not break my master’s confidence in regards to his past, but I do not doubt in the slightest that he knows and trusts Lynx-”

“Wait wait... His past?” Sojourn cuts in. “You know his past? Who he was before he became a monk? What’s M12-2 about?”

“I will not break his confidence, even if I knew,” Genji says shortly. Irritated, Sojourn throws up her hands, giving Winston a pointed stare.

“You see? Like master, like student, apparently.”

“So you  _ don’t _ recommend full installation as an agent?” Winston asks, surprisingly calm in spite of all the high emotions.

“I recommend... that you proceed with extreme caution where he’s concerned,” Sojourn answers slowly. “Despite his secrecy and his disregard for authority, his ability to sense his surroundings was invaluable, and he clearly had battle experience, which may well have saved our lives. And his talent for healing is... It isn’t quite on par with Dr. Ziegler’s, but it is comparable. He could  _ potentially _ ...” she turns a dark look on Genji, “be a valuable asset in the future, if his flaws are rectified.”

“Your opinion, Agent Shimada?” Winston turns to him.

“...I understand that you think my opinion biased, as he is my teacher,” Genji replies, choosing his words carefully, “so I will state only the facts. Zenyatta saved my life. More than that, he saved my soul. He has a talent for connecting with people, much as Mondatta did, but where Mondatta could sway a crowd, Zenyatta focuses on individuals. He believes that change begins with one, and that belief is what drives him. He will not obey orders that require him to leave a person in need, not when he knows he can help, because abandoning even one soul to the darkness is effectively denying his own weaknesses. All are one within the Iris, so how can he deny a part of himself?”

“So he is insubordinate,” Sojourn scowls.

“He is idealistic,” Genji corrects firmly.

“A dreamer,” she scoffs, crossing her arms.

“ _ But _ ... he is rational,” Genji continues. “When diplomacy fails, he will not hesitate to protect those under his care. You saw for yourself the lengths to which he will go when provoked, Captain; do not doubt that his past has made him a lethal opponent, and I would sooner try to fight through Talon headquarters on my own than ever be his enemy.”

“Agent Mirembe,” Winston speaks up before Sojourn can say anything else. “Anything you’d like to add?” Mirembe purses her lips, brow furrowed.

“I would trust him at my back,” she says softly. When she says nothing more, Winston nods, huffing a sigh.

“I will take your opinions and reports into account; thank you. Dismissed.”

Rising, Genji heads immediately for Zenyatta’s quarters, only for Sojourn to stop him in the hall before he can get far. He shrugs out of her grasp, but waits, albeit impatiently.

“Do you understand the gravity of what’s happening, Genji?” she asks lowly. “Zenyatta could be getting a reward for disobeying orders and putting us all in danger. Don’t you get that?”

“Agent Shimada or Shimada-san,  _ Captain _ ,” he corrects coolly. “With all due respect, I understand your concerns, but that is all they are; concerns. And while they are not unfounded, you have not seen enough of him to understand his reasoning.”

“Are you suggesting I’m paranoid?” she demands, gaze narrowed dangerously.

“Nothing of the sort,” he assures, shaking his head. “I am suggesting you withhold your judgments until you have seen the real Zenyatta.”

“The little shit?” she hums, torn between annoyance and amusement. Genji can’t help a small smirk, and it’s audible in his voice.

“Among other attributes,” he agrees. Glancing back toward the meeting room, he gives a soft sigh and shifts closer. “Give him a chance, Captain. If Winston does promote him to agent, give him a chance to show you.”

“...I make no promises,” Sojourn says after a long time, reluctantly giving in. “But... I’ll try.”

“That is all anyone can ask,” Genji nods. “Thank you.”

⛊⛊⛊

Zenyatta’s laughter cuts through the door as Genji approaches, and he pauses to listen. The monk’s voice is audible but indistinguishable. Curious, Genji hesitates and then raps his knuckles on the door. The voice stops.

“Come in, please,” Zenyatta calls genially, making Genji’s heart sing.

The door slides open, and his heart immediately plummets, jealous dread gripping him so tightly that he can’t move for several seconds. Zenyatta is leaning against the wall across the room, arms and ankles crossed in a casual sort of pose that would look more comfortable on McCree, and his mala beads are resting on the table rather than hovering around his neck. His posture and composure is unlike anything Genji has seen from him before, but it wouldn’t be as disconcerting as it is if not for the other person in the room.

Lynx Seventeen is lounging casually on the bed, more comfortable than Genji has ever been around his master.

“Genji,” Zenyatta greets, brightening and pushing away from the wall. “Wonderful; a proper introduction. 17, my student and one of the brightest pupils I have ever had the pleasure of teaching, Shimada Genji. Genji, a former colleague of mine, Lynx Seventeen. Nonbinary pronouns, please.”

“Nice to finally meet you in person, Shimada-san,” Lynx say, swings their legs over the side of the bed and standing with a casual grace that would almost make Genji jealous if he was not already. “I won’t embarrass you with my intimate knowledge of your history, but I must say, I didn’t expect you to survive even with Blackwatch’s insistence on keeping you alive. Speaks for 2’s- ah, Zen’s talents that you’re alive at all. And a good thing too; from what I can see, you’re one of Overwatch’s best.”

“...Master,” Genji says, opting to avoid creating a conflict. At least directly. “They are already hesitant to make you an agent because you invited him here.”

“They, Genji,” Zenyatta corrects. “I am aware that my offer raised Captain Sojourn’s hackles, but the information 17 has in regards to Talon will be invaluable to future missions, and whatever intelligence Overwatch has on Sombra that 17 has not collected is a very small price to pay for the safety and wellbeing of countless lives in the future.”

“I am not arguing,” Genji insists, “but the others do not see it the same way, and having him- them here now only serves to give weight to their concerns.” Not waiting for his master’s response, he turns to Lynx. “I have nothing against you, and so long as my past remains my past, I do not care to call you an enemy. But I do not know you, and therefore I cannot trust you. Until things have been decided and settled with Winston, you are not welcome here.”

“Genji,” Zenyatta scolds.

“No, it’s fine,” Lynx says, raising their hands. “Completely understandable. Just because I have a nose for information doesn’t mean I like shoving it in other people’s business. I’d say I’ll get out of your hair, but that’s an even worse joke than the nose pun. Pleasure to meet you personally, Shimada-san, even if the pleasure isn’t mutual. Here’s to hoping our next meeting is under better circumstances.” Saluting, he drops out of the window with enough ease to draw a reluctant hum of admiration from Genji’s throat; they’re no ninja, but even he can’t deny the hacker’s stealth.

“I will not ask how they got in,” Genji sighs, taking a step toward the bed but stopping himself; he can’t stop seeing Lynx there, and after that interaction, he isn’t certain whether or not Zenyatta appreciates his company.

“17 is not a bad person, Genji,” the monk says gently.

“I know,” he answers. “I have nothing against them.”

“Then why is your heart troubled?”

Genji stops breathing, that very organ lodging itself in his throat.

“I- W-why would-”

“Genji,” Zenyatta chides gently. Then he takes a breath. “My relationship with 17 is thin and old. Before yesterday, we had not spoken in almost fifteen years, and the last time we did, I was a very different man, and they were controlled by Anubis. We are seeking a common ground to understand each other as we are, not as we were. What I have seen of them has left me without any doubt that they are a far better person than they were allowed to be, and I cannot stand by and let prejudice prevent them from having friends now.”

Relieved that his master hasn’t seen his true emotions, Genji takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, looking vaguely at the window.

“...What is M12-2?” he asks after a long silence, voice low with unbidden curiosity.

“My designation,” Zenyatta answers without hesitation, picking up a mala bead and brushing his fingers across the surface, which momentarily distracts Genji. “Part of my serial number: m12nK-i18n:G-9i14y. Moduled to kill, designed to adapt on a general scale, unable to work with others...” He chuckles lightly as he releases the bead, which begins orbiting his neck, and picks up a second. “In spite of my coding, I worked well with 17. I always assumed it was part of my adaptation programming, until I met Mondatta. I could not seem to adapt to him no matter what I did, nor was I able to kill him. Even now, I do not understand why, but I am ever grateful.”

“If it does not work out,” Genji says slowly into the following silence, watching his master carefully re-connect to every bead. “With Winston- if...”

“If it comes to nothing, that will not change how I feel about them,” Zenyatta states, making Genji’s heart lurch and his gut tighten sickeningly. “I will not give up on them.”

“...yes.” Unable to stay, Genji turns toward the door; he needs space, open air, someplace to calm himself from the rise of emotion.

“Genji?” Waving him off, Genji hurries out, hardly paying any attention to where he’s going.

He runs into someone, mutters an apology, and keeps moving, not stopping until he realises he’s in the gardens, standing next to the same rose bush that Zenyatta caressed the first day he toured the facility. Taking a shaky breath, he brushes his fingers against the same rose his master touched back then, tracing the same petals. The long withered petals fall off under his touch, and he crushes them slowly between his fingers.

The burn behind his eyes says what he refuses to admit... that he’s lost the only person he’s ever loved before he ever had a chance.

⛊⛊⛊

“You look upset,” a familiar voice hums. Zenyatta sighs and glances up from the papers on his table.

“What makes you say that?” he asks blandly, watching Lynx hop down off the windowsill with all the grace of the feline that is their namesake.

“Well for one, the sarcasm,” Lynx laughs, coming over to lean on the table, getting comfortable. “For two, you haven’t meditated in days.”

“I will not ask how you know that,” Zenyatta says, shaking his head and returning to his papers. “You know there is a door right there, and now that you are unofficially a part of Overwatch, you can come and go as you please.”

“Hm,” Lynx purrs, picking up a paper. “No fun. Speaking of being part of Overwatch... You’re in?”

“Mm. The official decision was posted last night,” Zenyatta agrees, filling in another blank.

“Glad you made it,” Lynx chuckles, setting the paper down and leaning on the table, arms crossed. “Wouldn’t be half as much fun without you.” Zenyatta pauses and looks up at him, abruptly suspicious.

“You did not have a hand in this, did you?”

“Do I look like Sombra to you?” Lynx scoffs, amused.

“I think you could pull off the undercut.”

“Yeah, yeah, real funny, wiseass. Seriously, I didn’t do anything; you got in all on your own, in spite of me.”

“Well. Thank you for not interfering,” Zenyatta says, returning to his paperwork.

“...So?” Lynx prompts after a long moment.

“So?” Zenyatta echoes, glancing up.

“Why are you upset? And don’t try to deflect; I may not be Sombra, but I can still hack you.”

“You can certainly try,” the monk dares. Then he sighs, setting down his pen and sitting back in his chair. “I am concerned about Genji.”

“Ah, Shimada-san... He seemed... distracted, last I saw him.”

“Mm. I do not know why. And he refuses to talk to me. I have been trying to figure out why, but...” Shaking his head, he sighs again. “I do not understand. It is unlike him to hide from me; others, yes ― he does not trust easily ― but not from me.”

“Well, duh,” Lynx snorts. “Who would want to talk about heartbreak with the object of their affections?”

“...What?”

“...Oh you’ve got to be kidding me...” Lynx rubs a hand over their upper chest, a tic of exasperation that they haven’t lost over the years. “You really didn’t know? God, I knew you were oblivious, but this is a whole new level.”

“What do you mean?” Zenyatta asks, processors blanking.

“2, he’s in love with you,” Lynx says blatantly. “And I thought you knew, because you’re clearly in love with him.”

“I- No... What?”

“Geez, you really are the most oblivious man I have ever met,” Lynx laughs, shaking their head. “Alright, let me spell it out for you. The first day I came here, when Shimada-san caught me in your room, he was insanely jealous.  _ That’s _ why he chased me out; not because it was a breach of security. Well, that, and to protect you. If I was found here, you’d lose your chance to become an agent. And you... The way you lit up when he entered the room... I’ve never seen anyone that delighted by another person’s presence that didn’t absolutely adore them.”

“He is my student,” Zenyatta denies, baffled. “My brightest; of course I adore him.”

“Come on, 2, now you’re just being difficult,” Lynx scoffs. “In the past four days, you’ve sought him out... seven, eight... nine times that  _ I _ noticed; probably more. Despite getting a brush-off every time, you keep seeking him out.”

“17...”

“Tell me something, 2... When you’re around him, how do you feel?”

“I- What are you-?”

“Probably happy, content... I’d be willing to bet you’re more comfortable around him than around any other person. You haven’t been able to meditate in days;  _ can _ you even meditate if he’s not nearby?”

“I-” Zenyatta hesitates, thinking back over the past few months; the first time he requested Genji’s assistance to connect to the Iris, the subsequent sessions of mediation that followed...

An epiphany strikes him; every moment when Genji seemed jittery or nervous, went out of his way to help Zenyatta or just to be near him, sought him out to spend time together for the simplest of reasons.

“Oh... Oh, no...” He covers his vocal unit, horrified by the realisation. “I have ignored him, entirely... How much pain have I caused him?”

“Well, I can tell you that your obliviousness means he probably just kept it to himself and was satisfied being near you.” Lynx sighs, antennae sliding downward. “And I... I ruined that. I made him jealous because your attention came to me... I’m sorry, 2.”

“No, you are right; I was oblivious, and it is my own fault. I need to make it up to him. But he- How am I going to find him? He has been avoiding me.”

“Hm. Try the gardens,” Lynx suggests, pushing off the table and heading back to the window. “He’s fond of the roses.”

⛉⛉⛉

Genji is indeed sitting with the roses. To anyone else, he would appear to be in the midst of meditation, but Zenyatta sees none of the glow of Harmony that would pervade the ninja’s aura if that were the case.

“Genji?”

“Good evening, Master,” he replies softly. Zenyatta hesitates, then lowers himself to the ground entirely, settled in front of Genji.

“May I see your face?”

“I would rather not.” His mask turns down toward his hands, carefully folded in his lap.

“Please, Genji... I know you have been avoiding me.”

“I have,” Genji admits quietly. “I apologise.”

“No, no apologies necessary,” Zenyatta insists. “Please, Genji...” After a long, tense moment, Genji slowly reaches up and removes his mask, cradling it in his hands. His gaze remains fixed on it. Zenyatta’s core feels as though it’s flipping somersaults in his chest, and he takes a slow breath to calibrate his processors.

Genji’s grip on the mask tightens, and Zenyatta falters when he realises the ninja’s hands are trembling. The thinly veiled pain in his expression grips at Zenyatta’s core.

“Oh, Genji...” he murmurs, aching. He stretches out his hand to touch Genji’s cheek, only for the ninja to stiffen. Pausing, he debates the sanity of doing what is on his mind. But it’s unlikely he’ll get another chance; unlikely he’ll regain the courage again. So, he gently touches his fingertips to the rough flesh of Genji’s scars, tracing the lines to his jaw and tipping his chin up.

“Zenyatta, plea-please...” the ninja chokes, eyes closed, throat convulsing.

“Genji...” Leaning closer, Zenyatta touches the base of his faceplate to Genji’s cheek, a spark of energy flaring between metal and skin.

That tender touch, the gentlest of kisses, breaks the ninja’s facade; he chokes on a sob, leaning into Zenyatta’s hand.

“How did you know?” he whispers. “I thought I hid it so well...”

“You did,” Zenyatta assured, rubbing his thumb along the seam where prosthetic jaw meets scarred cheek. “I never realised... 17 told me.”

Genji stiffens abruptly, turning away from Zenyatta. Discord surges around him, and Zenyatta immediately regrets his slip.

“No, Genji...”

“It does not matter,” the ninja says lowly, raising his mask. Zenyatta catches his wrist, stopping him.

“Genji, listen to me,” he says firmly. “17 told me that you are in love with me. He also told me that I am in love with you.” This time the stiffening is different; shocked rather than defensive. Zenyatta takes advantage of the silence. “I am the most oblivious person on the face of this planet, my dear; it took an outsider to see that I care more about you than anyone else. I thought... I assumed my need to be near you was selfish, and in a way, it was. But not the way I believed. Being around you made me content, soothed my worries, and I thought it was my own pride for knowing that I helped make you a better person. I selfishly believed you would be as much my legacy as I was Mondatta’s. I still do not know when that belief became adoration.”

“Adoration...” Genji repeats, disbelieving, blinking rapidly. “Am... I dreaming...?”

“No,” Zenyatta assures, raising both hands to Genji’s jaw. “No, my dear; this is no dream.” The ninja shudders faintly, breathing a shaky sigh of relief and swallowing hard. Zenyatta brushes a thumb through the wet trail on his cheek, humming softly.

“Zen?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Kiss me?”

“Again?” Zenyatta chuckles.

“That was a kiss?” Genji breathes, wrapping his hand around Zenyatta’s wrist. “Do it again.”

“As you wish,” Zenyatta purrs, leaning in and touching the base of his faceplate to Genji’s cheek; energy sparks again, a soft, pale green glow.

“No,” the ninja whispers, catching his jaw and drawing him back in. “Like this.” He presses his mouth to the seam of Zenyatta’s faceplate, the energy sparking between his lips and dancing across his tongue.

A shiver tickles through Zenyatta’s wires, and he breathes in slow, trying to calibrate his whirring fans, steam venting off the heat building in his frame. Every touch of Genji’s lips creates another spark, and Zenyatta can follow the energy as it dissolves into the ninja’s aura.

“Genji...” His vocal unit glitches, the word becoming a static-filled whine.

“I owe Lynx an apology,” Genji murmurs. “They gave me you.”

⛉⛉⛉

-:End:-

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone curious, Zenyatta's serial number does actually mean something. If you've already figured it out, well done, nerd~ ;) And if not, but you want to know, here's the breakdown: the serial is made up of three different numeronyms, which are alphanumeric combinations that mean something, like 4-1-1 means 'information,' or 101 means the basic level of understanding. The first numeronym, m12n, stands for 'modularisation', which is something that allows HTML to work; it's what lets you use things like < i > to format here on Ao3. The 'K' is my own addition, signifying that Zen was 'moduled' for killing. The second numeronym, i18n, is 'internalisation,' which is a software design process that can be adapted into other languages or to other computer systems without needing engineering changes to the hardware. The 'G' is another addition of my own; Zen's programming was designed to adapt on a general scale to just about anything he came across. And the last numeronym, i14y, means 'interoperabilty,' or a computer's ability to work with other systems. The 9 is a bit of a pun, because I'm weird like that; 9i14y -> non-i14y -> non-interoperability. In other words, Zen was not created to work well with others~
> 
> So there you go; fun little easter egg for anyone who knows numeronyms. I spent a good hour or two just messing with them because they're so fun. And it made a perfect serial number for a prototype omnic weapon, don't you think?


End file.
